


a sick remark, a sore heart

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, POV Second Person, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You think of Jeno, and Chenle, and Mark, who all had the courage tobe.





	a sick remark, a sore heart

**Author's Note:**

> 190728  
> this is a new style of writing i wanted to try out, it's second person jisung pov. it's a little rocky i guess bc i wrote it within an hour and i didn't edit it too much bc i wanted to post it, and it's totally not self projecting what are u even saying and i hope u guys like it bc i did this to procrastinate.   
> the title is from 'what's your name' by (g)i-dle! 
> 
> tw//  
> homophobia, referenced violence, nothing is gory but in case it bothers any of u!

When you’re a senior in high school, your older cousin Mark invites you to a college football game that his friend is playing on. While you’re there, in the stands, you see a blonde boy, with piercings lining both ears and glitter on his lips, and you have to fight to not stare. It’s not the first boy who has ever caught your eye, and it won’t be the last, but you still make sure Mark isn’t looking at you whenever you sneak a glance. 

You know Mark won’t care because you know how his face lights up when he mentions number 20 on the field who has muscles larger than the sky and heart bigger than that, and how he tenses when asked if he has a girlfriend at family gatherings, and how he talks about his friend Jaemin way too often, but still. Old habits die hard. 

Later, when Mark drives you home, you pretend you’re asleep but you’re thinking about the pretty boy in the stands with the glittery lips, and then you’re thinking about how the barista in the coffee shop you frequent smiles so wide when he sees you and it makes you blush, and of every boy you’ve ever had to tear your eyes away from because they’re too attractive not to look but old habits die hard, and you keep thinking of those boys until you’re lying in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it all means (and you know, but you can’t admit it to yourself). 

And you start to think. 

You think of Lee Jeno, two years ahead of you, who always smiled at you and helped you out when you were lost freshman year of high school, and handed out popsicles at halftime during the Kindergarten Kickers soccer games he reffed, and danced until his legs couldn’t hold him up any longer, and smiled brighter than the sun with eyes shining like the stars to match, and tutored foreign kids in Korean every Saturday, and was so inherently _good_ no matter what happened. 

You think of Lee Jeno and you think of how you haven’t seen him in months, not after you saw him on your way home from a late night at the dance studio, limping, arm clutched to his chest, face swollen and bruised, and red coming from so many places you couldn’t even count. You think of how the next day, Jeno wasn’t in school, but you heard the rumors flying around you. 

_(“Did you hear? Lee Jeno was caught kissing another_ boy _last night.”_

_“Really? I always thought he was too good of a guy for_ that.”)

The rumors float around, hushed, like secrets that shouldn’t see the light of day, and you haven’t seen Jeno in months. 

_(“I heard his parents shipped him off to live with his grandparents.”_

_“Probably too embarrassed to even be seen with him. I mean, imagine raising your son and then he turns out like_ that.” 

_“I know. I hope his grandparents can fix him. He was such a nice boy.”)_

Your mind moves on, and you almost feel like you’re on a roller coaster, the wind pushing your head this way and that until you can barely even think straight, your head is swimming so much. 

You think of Zhong Chenle who moved into your town when you were in sixth grade, and how you were both in the same grade, even though he was older than you. 

You think of Zhong Chenle, who had a voice like honey and a smile like sugar, and who impressed the chorus and drama teacher for his two years in their middle school so much he got every lead role and every solo, and fed stray cats on his walk home from school, and played the piano for the almost 100 year old lady who lived on his street everyday, until she died, and even then her relatives said she had never been happier than those last couple of months. 

You think of Zhong Chenle, the superstar among all kids, who told you after his latest piano recital as you both laid on the blankets on his roof, that he liked boys, and you thought nothing else could shock you like that had but then Chenle had started crying, and then you had to either comfort your friend or go with what everyone said and you never saw Chenle crying so it’s not like you could _leave_ him. 

You think of Zhong Chenle, who painted his nails every color of the rainbow, and never apologized for who he was, and even when they would shove him down and beat him into submission—they would never win, because Chenle, the bravest of them all, would stand up again with blood on his teeth and a wicked grin. 

Until. Until he couldn’t stand back up anymore, and you had to wave goodbye from the corner of his street as his parents chased after the moving truck. You think of Zhong Chenle and how you haven't seen him in almost four years. 

You think of Chenle, and Jeno, and Mark who’s hiding his boyfriend from the world, and the little boys you see holding hands until they’re forced apart by their fathers, and the two girls who pretend they hate each other during school but who you see with loosely intertwined hands later behind the park when they think no one can see them, and the boy who wasn’t really a boy but had to be pretend to be until she left for college and then was never allowed to come back to your town. 

You think of your town and how it has never been welcoming of the different, never open to anyone not a replica of the townspeople before them, and how the teens throw around the word “gay” like a slur, like it’s an insult, like it’s something to be ashamed of, and how when a girl, who used to live here, moved on and married another girl in the States was treated as if she’d never existed. 

You think of your parents who seem to love you, but history has shown how quick that can change the moment you accept who you are and reveal yourself to the world, and you don’t know if you could ever take that chance. 

You think of how being gay is treated like an illness, like something you have to be cured of, and how it’s seen as unnatural and _bad,_ and how nothing good ever comes out of it. 

But how can that be true when Jeno’s the nicest boy you’ve ever met, and Chenle is the most kind-hearted and talented boy you’ve ever known, and Mark is one of the best people you’ll ever talk to, and if they aren't human then what makes you any better than them? How can it be bad, when it’s _Chenle,_ who played piano on your sad days, or when it’s _Jeno,_ the only person you’ve met who is good for no reason other than being good, or when it’s _Mark,_ who has never once left you throughout your life. How could _any_ of them possibly be bad? 

You think and think and think until your head hurts, until the first rays of sunlight are pushing past your curtains, greeting you. 

The sunlight is warm, nothing close to the burning enemy it is in the middle of the day, but it’s warm and friendly and it makes you think of Mark’s hugs. 

It’s warm and friendly and open and it’s sunlight, so it can’t judge you. 

You stare at the sunlight drifting in, and you think of Jeno and Chenle and Mark, who are all your heroes, who have shaped you into who you are today, and you think of them and their courage to _be_ and you stare at the sunlight, which can’t judge you, which is open and warm and friendly, and you start to whisper. 

“I’m gay.”


End file.
